It wasn’t anything like sex.

It wasn’t fun. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t smell good. It didn’t taste good. He wasn’t turned on.

She certainly was.

His arms were as clasped to his sides as his eyelids, as gripped by her walls as his upper and lower jaw were to each other. It was all he could do. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and prayed he would wake up soon.

In fact, at their current size disparity, her cunt wasn’t even anything like a cunt anymore. It was like a blind alien’s head, her urethral opening a single nostril. Her labia was strange alien hair, coming down in one large, wrinkly clump instead of in separate strands.

Okay, maybe the face analogy was a bit of a stretch, but it was the best he could do in the moment to humanize a completely alien situation.

She (if aliens had gender in the same way as humans did) was an alien, unable to digest his human flesh yet obsessed with his flavor, trying to swallow him even as she regurgitated discharge over his shaking form.

Well, he really shouldn’t have been turned on, and, in actuality, he wasn’t, but the pressure and speed of her wet tunnel rubbing up and down on his cock gave him an erection. He didn’t cum, though.

“Aw, Quint, honey,” she giggled. “Don’t look so miserable. You got with a goddess twice in a row! In one day! That’s twice as many pussies as you’ve been in total before today. I mean,” she flustered out, heartbeat rising, “you get it, right? Because you’re, like, a virgin and everything.” He could feel the blood pulsing through her veins all around him. “But,” she paused both her speaking and movement for a moment to let out a moan, then continued thrusting her cunt around him, faster than before. “Like, you came out of your mom that way.” She thought about it while continuing to assault him. “Unless you were, like a C-section.”

Quint continued trying to stay as still as possible through the blasting waves of slime and heat pouring over him. For a moment, she slowed down.

“Hang on a sec,” she said. She was lying on her back with her knees up so her feet could lie flat on the surface of her bed, but she sat up for moment. She leaned to the side, lifting Quint up briefly before gravity slid him out of her. “You’re pretty thin, unlike a lot of the fatties I got back when we were living down south. I need a little help.”

Quint didn’t bother to open his eyes, but he could hear the clatter of a disorganized drawer. Then the thundering rumble of a vibrator twice his weight. He opened his eyes for a moment as she lifted him back up into her looming vagina. The vibrator was just about the same shade of magenta as the now sopping blanket. It was silicone and veined, essentially a dildo with an on switch. He closed his eyes again as she brought it down to her clit and sat herself down again with him snug, if not safe, inside of her.

“Listen,” she said. Then she gasped for what felt like an eternity. “I mean,” she moaned. Her sticky juices were now freely flowing, pouring out of the dappled texture of her walls. “Not my moaning or whatever. Although you can—Uh! …listen to that, too, of course.”

He wished she’d shut up and get this over with.

“Just tilt your head back so you don’t get bashed in the face a bunch. I promise Mr. Pink won’t leave my clit as long as you’re a good boy and stay put.” She moaned. “Oh my glob… That is in-fucking-tense.”

Then she gasped again, and all hell broke loose out of her urethra. It wasn’t piss. It was sticky and sweet, but it shot out of her with force and into Quint’s flaring nostrils as he tried to grab every breath he could.

When he opened his mouth to continue his efforts, another wave shot onto him. This time, he ended up swallowing it. It took less effort than spitting.

While she coated him in waves of sucrose-saturated piss, she clenched onto him, to the point that his arms shifted from being on his sides to being uncomfortably trapped on top of his stomach.

After half a minute of clenching and squirting, she turned Mr. Pink off and let him fall down on the other side of her thigh.

When it became clear she was enjoying a moment of rapturously silent stillness, Quint decided now was as good a time as any to slither back out of her.

“Okay,” she gasped. “You can go out now. But don’t try anything. We still have lots of fun ahead of us.”

He didn’t. He was too tired and too out of it to even consider lifting a finger or opening an eye. Of course, if he had, he would have gotten a great view of the last thing he ever wanted to see again, so it was probably better that way.

She woke up from her nap before he did, but it didn’t take long for her booming, yet sickeningly petite voice to jerk him awake.

…toenails need fixing up, don’t you think?”

He sighed with disappointment in himself. She had fallen asleep before him, too. Had he actually given up hope so quickly? It hadn’t been half a day. It hadn’t even been a quarter, probably.

“Aw, honey,” she said, peering down at him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Lots of guys are too worn out after their first time to really make an effort to escape. I mean, even without having to actually even move at all, it takes a good bit of effort to deal with a girl as needy as me, I bet.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Listen, I’ll give a little bit of a breather, okay? We can do my nails later.”

He remained silent, but he opened his eyes. Ugh. He closed them again.

“Well, that was kind of rude. You know, you’re getting off pretty easy as it is with only having to do my nails. If you think I got this Brazilian from someone other than a shrinky dink, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Quint sat up and turned away from her. When he moved, he could feel the now cool slickness beneath him. He opened his eyes from a jab of disgust. At least now he had a view of… a mirror. Oval, with an ornate metal room slapdash painted pink. He saw himself sitting, and her, sitting much, much larger than him. He attempted to sigh through his nose, deeper this time than the last one, but quickly realized that it was a horrible idea.

It’s okay. He thought. I’ll wait until she’s asleep tonight, and then I’m out of here. No matter what.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “It’s not going to work. I have a very special little space for you to sleep in. Mom helped me make it! Lemme show you.”

She stood up and walked over to her closet, bending over to rummage. As much as Quint hated to admit it, she really was absolutely gorgeous.

“Voila!” she said, triumphant. It was a metal case about the size of a shoebox, locked shut. It had stickers of hearts covering it. What was her deal with hearts? She opened it to reveal a Barbie sized- bed and a shot glass. Hearts on everything.

“Listen, you rest up. We can do my nails later. I don’t want you to get so worn out tonight you’re no fun tomorrow, right?”

He stared at his new home, dazed. Fine. He wouldn’t escape physically. But this whole thing had to be a dream, right? So he nodded his head. Maybe if he went to sleep in a dream, he’d wake up. He wasn’t really sure about lucid dream logistics.

“Lemme wash you off first, though.”

She grabbed him up in her fist and started walking, no simulation of pretending he was human. In her private bathroom, she turned the faucet on to a comfortable temperature and pressure. He started to wipe himself off, but she stopped him, then started to do it herself, coating her pointer finger in liquid soap.

She took extra time cleaning his no-longer-private area.

“You know,” she mused, her great breasts hanging above him, “you’re pretty well hung for a nerd. Kind of a shame it doesn’t actually matter anymore.”

She dried him off with a pink washcloth, aggressively and without ceremony. Small fibers clung to him, but she only seemed to like him better with a little bit of pink on him, smiling widely at her handiwork.

When they returned to her bedroom, she muttered, “I need to change my fucking sheets now.” but she still put him in the box. Before closing the lid, she told him, “You should have enough space in there to stand up. Tough shit if you don’t, alright?”

He nodded, staring off into space.

“You’re doing the whole silent sorrow thing, huh?” she sneered at him. “Whatever. Don’t piss on the floor. That’s why I gave you the glass.”

She shut the lid, and he could just make out his bedroom by the light poking in through the breathing holes in the ceiling. Quint heard and felt the lock chunking shut.

Then they were on the move, and then, with a bump, she placed him down on the floor, presumably in her closet.

“Oh, and by the way, don’t try getting out. You can’t and it’ll just wake me up. I’m kind of a light sleeper.”

Then there was no light.